


Open Window

by Vixx2pointOh



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, POV First Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Stranger Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 00:23:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14320368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixx2pointOh/pseuds/Vixx2pointOh
Summary: She left the window open, knowing he might come...





	Open Window

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, look, this is porn without a plot that I wrote for Bish and I was peer pressured to post it, so... here, hope you enjoy it.
> 
> For my Prometheus Sister Wife xox

_He’s here again._  
I don’t need to turn to look upon him to know that the hairs standing up at the back of my neck are accurate.  
_He’s here again._

I steady my breath as best I can while I count backwards from 5 to 1, slow and measured. He’s trouble, I know this and I should tell him to leave, knowing that he would, because there is something damaged and broken in his eyes when he looks at me, but I can’t and I know I won’t, because the truth is.. _.I don’t want to._

My nails claw into the maple desk as I inhale deeply and catch the full-bodied musk of his scent – it’s perspiration, gritty, dark, lecherous, and carnal. It’s everything you’re not suppose to want but then he says my name and my knees become like jelly and my teeth feast on my lips.

I want to make him wait, to have him say it a second time, _hell even a third_. But I’m helpless to him and without actively thinking I turn and meet his shadowed eyes with my own.

“How did you get in?” I ask as I coyly smooth my hands down the sides of my skirt, the fabric suddenly feeling constrictive and irritating.  
He chuckles, it’s mostly without candour but I hear something nuanced and light in it, struggling to break free. “You left the window open.”

I nod, I know I did because, while I’d never admit it, I was hoping he would come again.

“Would you like me to leave?” he asks, his voice deep and rasped.  
I squint into the recessed shadows that he hides in before I stiffen my shoulders and brace my hands behind me on the desk.  
“Do _you_ want to leave?” I reply, finding an impish little laugh to lace through my words.  
I hear his heavy boots scuff the polished floors before I see him move closer.  
“No,” he answers me with his face still mostly shrouded in shadows.  
I tug the corner of my lower lip and chew it quite unaware of the action until he steps out from the dark and his thumb strokes my lip free.

He studies the spot I have chewed religiously for years with a certain kind of displeasure sewn into his expression and I mean to ask him about it, but another question comes out instead.  
“What do you want then?”  
His thumb leaves off my face seconds before his whole hand combs into my luscious hair strewn down my back, in waves untangled by my own fingers coursing through them while I was alone, _before him._ He takes a clump of it at the scalp and gently tugs it and while I can feel the move shiver down my spine, it doesn’t hurt me at all, _no, it excites me._

“I want to fuck you.”  
And there it was, five words strung together in a way that should make my feminist heart recoil, but they don’t and instead those five words have me moan a silvery “Yes.”

I’ll argue with myself another time, but for now I simply convince myself that I want to be fucked, just like the first time and the second time, because I do, I want to feel his eyes devour me and his lips tasting me, I want to be naked, spread legged and dripping between my folds.

I want to come with wanton abandonment and I want to feel the throb in my walls for days afterwards.

“I want to be fucked.”  
When a smile twists his lips upward, I realise I’ve said my inner thoughts aloud, but I’m in no mood to apologise for them, so I simply cock my head to the side and thrust my hips towards him. “Do I have to repeat myself?”

And then he’s on me much quicker than I anticipated and his mouth claims mine. His lips are wet and hungry and my lips are his meal, but I hold my own and it’s my tongue that slips between his lips first. He growls and I wonder for a moment if I should retreat, but then his tongue coils around mine and he sucks me deeper into his mouth.

My back is hard against the bevelled edge of my desk and when his grip on my waist pushes me harder into it I hiss hotly into his mouth.

Thick fingers run down the seam of my black pencil skirt and back up the inside of my leg. I can feel the rough skin on the pads before he growls his next command against my panting lips.  
“Desk, now.”

I hurry to do as he's asked even though I'm not entirely sure why, I'm hardly a meek one. Maybe it's his voice, maybe it's the way he practically demands it from me, or maybe it's because my own need is thumping like a marching band on steroids between my legs and I know to ignore it will be painful and leave me wanting, as though some sex potion has turned me into a nymphomaniac.

Either way, I clamber onto my desk and seconds later my skirt is up around my waist and my legs are spread open, wide enough to accommodate his broad hips.

The leather on his outfit grazes the sides of my knees as he pulls me to the edge. I touch his temple, his cheek, his mouth, his jaw – anywhere I can really, and he doesn’t flinch or break his eyes from mine, until I slip two fingers under the loose fabric bunched around his neck. I expect him to pull away, to discipline me with his eyes and walk away from this leaving me wet and wanting, but he doesn’t, it feels like maybe he moves a little closer and I know his eyes soften and even hood a little as I begin to make tiny circles on his warm skin.

From there I move down the tight worn leather, it’s black but faded in places and I know he has left some parts of what he wears in the corner of the room shielded in darkness, _for my protection or his?_

I shake away logic and go against every inclination I would ordinarily have.  
Because, _honestly_ , I just want to be fucked.

He touches my swollen sex through the fabric of my cotton panties and I almost leap off the desk at the sudden, engulfing pleasure that such a simple act brings me.

I want them off, now, but when my own hand slips between my legs to expedite the process he pulls it away and slaps it to the desk, spilling a pen caddy nearby. And then his hand is back between my legs, slicing his fingers between my folds and making my juices bled through the cotton weave onto his thick fingers.

He swaps hands so quickly I barely notice and as one hand continues to tease and excite my pearled clit, the other rises to his mouth. With my eyes tamed on his but wild with excitement, I watch him feed his glistening fingers through his smiling lips.

His tongue parts his fingers and he cleans them off so completely as I spill more into my panties. I don’t want to beg but my breathing becomes erratic and stretched as my insides clench around emptiness and I want for nothing but to be filled, quite completely, by him.

The man in leather, that smells like danger and sex.  
With lips of fire and eyes of seduction.  
And a cock made for sinning.

I buck into his fingers and he plunges a single digit, sheathed in cotton, into my entrance and while it makes me scream in delight, it’s not nearly enough and he knows it.

His eyes roam down my chest and for a moment it feels as though I can read his every thought. I hurry to undo each button on my dusky pink blouse but I miss one across my breasts and I sigh out quite frustrated before he has each side of the blouse twisted into his fists and he pulls. The problematic button flies off and the cold air from the open window whips against my chest.

I shiver and whimper out a moan as he pushes my bra up above my breasts and takes one of my peeked nipples deep into his mouth. He sucks and plays and toys with it in ways I can’t keep a track of... _his lips, his tongue, his teeth..._ they all play a part and I’m soon a mumbling piles of hot flesh and piquing cries.

I just want to be fucked.

My eyes lapse closed while his mouth lavishes my other breast with the same attention, until I beg him to stop. “You. Inside. Now,” I demand in a way that surprises even myself.  
But he loves it, I can see the grin flushing his cheeks and so I purse my lips quite indignantly until he frees his hard cock from his leather pants and pauses it at my entrance.

I want to scream at the delay and petulantly demand he fuck me hard enough to make my sturdy ancient desk shake, but I don’t, I just wrap my own hand over his, even though it barely even covers his palm, and I thrust him forward as my other hand curtains back my panties.

The feeling is sudden and intense and there is a brief moment where it’s even a little painful, but I want it, I crave it, I absolutely fucking _need_ it.

My legs scramble around his waist, perhaps I’m subconsciously afraid he’ll leave me in this state of utter manic if I give him the chance, so I don’t, and my ankles lock tightly under that plump and fantastic ass that I want to claw my fingers into.

I tip my hips up making his cock surge deeper and I find my voice in a loud, “Yes!” that just might wake the dead.

And then my hands are on his ass, slipped down between his fallen pants, now bunched over my feet, and I’m digging so hard I’m positive he will feel me tomorrow and the mere idea of that makes me tighten my clawed fingertips into his lush flesh.

It’s his turn to cry out and he does, it’s my name and it’s fevered and desperate and perfectly in time with a thrust upwards that lifts me just a fraction off the desk.

One hand is back in my hair, twisting into the roots while the other is rubbing frantic and _fucking_ wonderful circles and sweeps across, around and over my clit.

I look down to where our bodies are joined and the sight of his thick, hard rod slamming inside me makes me shudder perilously close to an explosive climax I can feel in the embers of my core. It’s then when he yanks my hair down and raises my chin up before his lips are once more claiming mine.

And he can have them  
He can have every single part of me, because I want him to.  
I want him to mark my lips with his, to make them swollen from his ferocious kisses and red from his eager nips.

I want it.

My walls throb and my breathing tightens in my chest, making my breast rise and fall before I palm one to the point it makes me stammer my mouth around a silent fuck.

I want it.

My eyes loll back and my mouth opens to his lashing tongue.

I want it.

“Come,” he instructs against my quivering lips in a voice that sounds like gravel itself.

And I do.  
Explosively.  
A flood of warm juices rush down his embedded cock as he continues to fuck me through my quaking orgasm.

“Come,” I demand just as forcefully as he did, if not more so.  
And he does.  
Explosively.  
In hot ribbons that I can feel deep inside.

But still he continues to pump, back and forth, taking every last moment to enjoy our mutual release, stretching me wider and ploughing me deeper. But I want it, every last inch of it, and I crave the numbness that spreads down to my toes.

I’m trembling around him as he slowly withdraws and tucks himself away. I want to ask him if I can clean him up, if I can taste our mixed spends on his shaft with my tongue, but I can’t formulate words let alone a request such as that.

And then he leans in and gently kisses my cheek before he whispers, with a voice that almost makes me come a second time as my eyes lid over, “Don’t leave your window open, you never know who might come in.”

When I open my eyes a moment later, he’s gone and I’m sitting on my desk with my breast exposed and my skirt around my waist and an unmistakable smile on my swollen, red lips.

I just got fucked; and I’m absolutely okay with that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So um, yeah, you're welcome ;) 
> 
> @someonesaidcake


End file.
